Losing It
by RevSue
Summary: C & J shower Challenge Response vignette: Clarisse has a bad day and loses it ... Joseph helps her find it.


_Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters since Princess Diaries 1 & 2, and its characters are the property of Disney, Buena Vista, and Meg Cabot. I make no money from this work of fiction._

Losing It

Clarisse had been invited to Marissa Motaz' sixteenth birthday party ... as the queen. Marissa had really wanted her to wear a tiara, so Clarisse had obliged, despite Joseph's obvious disapproval. She had said to him severely as he had driven her out to the Motaz' country estate, "A birthday is a cause for celebration and anything I can do to enhance the celebration will be done." At any rate, she had not had time to change, having just come from her weekly audience in the throne room. With Charlotte busy organizing the renovations of Mia's suite, and the princess' arrival and twenty-first birthday party next week to plan, things were getting a bit hectic. In the midst of the chaos, as one who valued order and regularity, Clarisse often wondered if she were 'losing it', as Mia would say.

Now, sitting in the shady backyard of the Motaz' estate and sipping her punch, Clarisse wished she had not worn such a heavy silk dress. The day was almost unbearably hot. Daintily touching her napkin to her temples then her neck, Clarisse furtively eyed Joseph who was hovering a short distance away, and wondered how he could look so cool despite the heat and despite being dressed in his usual black turtleneck sweater, black pants and black leather jacket. Hearing Marissa and her friends giggling in the bush behind her, Clarisse listened to their talk, and her face slowly flushed when she realized they were talking about Joseph, how sexy he looked in black and how he must be really HOT in every sense of the word. Clarisse shifted uncomfortably and tried to concentrate on something other than what she was overhearing. What she wouldn't give for a cold shower right about now!

At that moment, the waiter approached, carrying a large tray of glasses brimming with ice cold passionfruit punch. Sebastian Motaz, standing across the yard beside a rather untidy-looking, lanky young man, waved to his daughter, and the girl pushed out of the bushes, calling back to her friends, "My cousin Lionel is here! Come on!"

The accident was unavoidable and inevitable. Marissa tripped and stumbled into the waiter who tried to catch his balance. Clarisse closed her eyes, hardly flinching at all when the punch splashed all over her shoulders and neck, completely soaking the dress and her upper body. She wondered vaguely if she had just wished this on herself by wanting a cold shower.

Then a horrified Sheila was at her side, a contrite Marissa was apologizing profusely, and a hapless waiter was frantically gathering up the now-empty glasses, begging for his queen's forgiveness and dabbing at her dress with handfuls of paper napkins . A stern look from Joseph who had arrived at her side immediately sent the man scuttling away, leaving Clarisse to assure the Motaz' that she was NOT hurt in the least. "I am sorry, but I DO think I must leave, however. I really need to clean up properly ..."

"Your Majesty," Marissa said wretchedly, "I can't begin to say how sorry I am about this ..."

Sebastian hurried up at that point to speak urgently to Joseph. It appeared that his nephew had not managed to brake in time when arriving for the party, and had slid into the front side of the royal limousine, completely smashing in the fender against the wheel and rendering it impossible to drive. Lionel's car, however crumpled in the front, was driveable, he had assured the prime minister, and he really wanted to offer it for the queen's use to return home. He was too upset and afraid to speak to the queen in person, however, especially since he was supposed to be starting his summer job in security at the palace in a week's time. Sebastian added that his own limousine was in the garage behind a number of other vehicles but of course, if she wished, he would have it brought around in ten or fifteen minutes.

Wishing only to escape as soon as possible, Clarisse acceded to the young man's proxy offer of his vehicle, much to Joseph's disgust. He helped Clarisse into the small car, settled into the driver's seat, and they were off amid a chorus of good-byes from the celebrants of the birthday party. The prime minister's nephew's car was not in very good condition, and it grew very warm despite Joseph turning the controls to the coldest setting.

"Air conditioner doesn't seem to work," he finally grumbled.

Clarisse shifted uncomfortably. The heat, combined with the punch, was making her feel very sticky. "I just hope we make it home safely," she murmured. "And SOON, so I can get cleaned up."

"This is a shortcut. We'll get home sooner." Joseph turned suddenly down a narrow road, then grinned at her and added, "You DO smell rather ... ripe."

"Thank you," she responded dryly. "That was just the sort of comment guaranteed to make me feel better."

"I mean it nicely. You smell ... fruity ... and delicious," his voice dropped at his last word. With a sudden jolt, the car seemed to jump forward as it bumped over ruts in the road when he stomped harder on the gas pedal.

She shot a glance at him, but couldn't see the expression in his eyes because of his sunglasses. He thought she smelled delicious? Still striving to keep things light in order to hide her true feelings, Clarisse chuckled softly. "Eau de Passionfruit. I doubt it will catch on." Such light-hearted bantering was one aspect of her marriage to Rupert which she had missed the most since her husband's death. Five years ago, in San Francisco, she had found the same enjoyment in her interactions with Joseph, and over the years since that time, the frequency of their light exchanges had increased.

"It has caught me," he muttered. Even as she turned to him in surprise, he swore and jammed on the brakes. Wide-eyed, she looked out the window to see the car suddenly blocked by dozens of cows milling around it, some tossing their heads wildly. Clarisse shrank lower in her seat, wishing for the security of the much larger, infinitely more comfortable limousine. Joseph rolled down his window and leaned out, shouting his question to a man on horseback who was apparently herding the cattle down the narrow road. "Can't you go faster? We're in a bit of a hurry here!"

"Sorry, monsieur! Even the Queen of Genovia couldn't make 'em move any faster!" was the retort. "Relax. Take your time. It looks like that vehicle has been pushed a bit too hard in this heat, if you ask me."

The rider moved away while Clarisse was puzzling over his last sentence. Then she jumped slightly when Joseph cursed again and jumped out of the car, opening the hood to allow billows of steam to roll out. "I can't believe this!" he groaned, getting back in the car and pounding the steering wheel in his frustration. "This thing, which I refuse to dignify with the name of a car, has now overheated!"

"Which means?"

"We're stuck here for at LEAST an hour -- until it cools down and I can put more water in."

"HERE?" Clarisse looked around. Aside from the cattle now rounding the bend ahead, the only building in sight was a rundown motel they had passed moments before.

In moments, the car was suffocatingly hot. Rolling the windows down provided no relief, as there was no breeze whatsoever. "There's no help for it," Joseph sighed, getting out of the car again. "I'm sorry, your Majesty, but we're going to have to walk back to the motel. Let me contact Shades ..."

He helped Clarisse out of the car, and flipped open his cellphone. In moments he was speaking with his second-in-command, telling him they were going to be late, and to advise Charlotte and the queen's maids to have a bath prepared for her majesty as she had been accidentally doused with punch at the party. Shades obviously made some sly comment to that which caused Joseph to growl, "Just DO it, Shades!" Then Joseph's expression changed. "What? He WHAT? There's no WATER? NONE? How could anyone manage to ...? Never mind. We'll manage. We're just ..."

Clarisse, hearing Joseph's words about no water, turned quickly and started towards him, not looking where she was going. One foot landed squarely in the middle of a fresh cow pie, and her exclamation of horror made Joseph break off mid-sentence as she slipped. He lunged for her, dropping the phone into the mess just as Clarisse's other foot joined the first in her efforts to remain on her feet. She winced as she heard the cellphone case crack as she stepped on it, mashing it further into the wet and mucky cow pattie. Catching at Joseph's hands on her upper arms, Clarisse closed her eyes for a moment and steadied herself. This day was very quickly going from bad to worse. Without moving, she asked, "What was that about the water at the palace?"

"The plumber you hired, against my advice, might I remind you, managed to flood the bathroom he was renovating for the princess, then in his flurry to stop the water, he went to the main taps and twisted THEM off, and broke something, or plugged something up ... and now there is no water in the entire palace."

"That is NOT what I needed to hear at this precise moment," Clarisse sighed. She opened her eyes and looked bleakly down at herself, sticky, covered with punch and standing in ... With a convulsive shudder, she pulled one foot free of the manure, then the other, and headed for the fast-moving stream in the ditch.

"Your Majesty!" Joseph protested, but she gritted her teeth against the cold, and walked into the water to allow her shoes to be at least partially cleaned.

In spite of the heat of the sun and the air, the cold mountain stream soon had Clarisse shivering. Joseph quickly took off his leather jacket and draped it over her shoulders. "Not exactly Dior, but it should keep you warm," he said.

"Thank you. Oh, Joseph, I MUST have a shower. I can't stand this! Every fly and other bug seems to be making a beeline straight for me. This Eau de Passionfruit is very appealing, it seems." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Clarisse wished them unsaid.

Ever the gentleman, Joseph graciously ignored the opening she had provided for a suggestive remark. "We'll head for the motel. You can shower there while we wait for the car to cool down." He reached into the car for her scarf and she put it over her head in an effort to hide her face and retain her anonymity at the motel.

As they walked down the road, Clarisse kept stealing little glances at the man beside her. Without his jacket, his muscles rippled visibly under his black turtleneck, and she had to clench her hands and resolutely turn her thoughts away from touching him ... As Marissa Motaz and her friends had said, Joseph in black was one hot, sexy man!

At the motel, Clarisse had to endure the dismissive look the pudgy owner cast her bedraggled form as he winked at Joseph and said the motel rented their rooms by the half hour and that they were lucky to be getting the last room left -- the honeymoon suite, no less. She could tell Joseph was furious, but she shook her head at him almost imperceptibly. She did NOT want to reveal her true identity to this odious man! They took the key and made their way to the room, not acknowledging the owner's bawdy reminder that they only had half an hour, as business was brisk in these parts. Clarisse looked around again, and concluded she had to be missing something, as no other cars were in sight, and there was no other sign of life.

When Joseph finally managed to open the door after a struggle with the key, the two stepped in then halted in dismay at the dingy, sparse furnishings. A huge, king-sized bed with rumpled, grubby sheets was the only piece of furniture, a large but cracked mirror hanging above it. Removing his sunglasses, Joseph stared in disbelief. Then his lips tightened. "The only room left?" he growled. "I think I'll go back and break his head ..."

Clarisse caught his arm. "No, Joseph. Really, as long as there is a shower ... we won't be here long enough to worry ..."

They picked their way across the floor, avoiding pear cores, tin cans and other assorted and unidentifiable garbage, pushed the bathroom door open wide, scraping it over the cracked linoleum in the process, and stared in silence at the filthy shower stall. Clarisse shuddered when she saw the black spider-shaped soap on a rope hanging from the showerhead. Why would ANYONE want something like that hanging in their face? Then, swatting irritably at the numerous flies buzzing around her, she said resolutely, "I'll shower here. It will be better than no water at the palace ... I simply MUST get this punch off me!"

"If you're sure ..." Joseph looked dubiously at the shower stall, then her, then shrugged. "I'll wait outside. You know how to turn the shower on?"

"I'm not completely helpless!" Clarisse muttered.

Giving the shower a final, scathing look, Joseph retreated from the hotel room. Clarisse stepped into the shower stall still fully dressed and, after a moment or two of deliberation and fumbling, managed to turn on the water.

Moments later, she realized that it was not just water trickling out of the showerhead, but SPIDERS! Little spiders, to be sure, but spiders! Clarisse screamed and shrank back against the wall, watching as the spiders tried to get away from the water but ended up being washed down the drain as the water grew stronger.

Joseph broke through the door and was in the room in less than a minute, gun in hand. "What is it?" he demanded wildly. Seeing her huddled against the wall, he dropped the gun and lunged into the shower, clothes and all, and gathering her trembling body into his arms. "Clarisse, why did you scream? What happened?"

"Spiders!" she whimpered, burrowing into him. "Oh, God, I hate them! I hate bugs! Joseph, they came out of the shower ... they were all over me ... oh, I can still feel them ... Oh, God, take them away!"

He looked around, but saw nothing except the soap-on-a-rope. Repulsive as it was, it would hardly cause her to react like that! He rather awkwardly patted her back. "I'm sorry, your Majesty. I suppose I should have turned it on for you. As you know, however, I was not trained as a lady's maid."

"It's ... it's all right," Clarisse managed to say. "The water IS getting the punch off me now..." Her voice trailed off as her eyes met his, completely disregarding the water running over them both.

They stared at each other for a long moment, neither speaking, and neither moving from under the rather erratic spurt of cool water. Clarisse wasn't sure what she would say if she did open her mouth. Would she ask him to tell her why every cell in her body quivered with expectation, every nerve bristled in anticipation, why she was braced for the earth's crazy spin to send them into a new orbit? If she asked such questions, how could he possibly answer?

He answered without words. He kissed her. His lips touched hers lightly, then he paused and leaned back, giving her the chance to say no. She couldn't say no. She didn't want to. She tilted her head toward him, he saw the need that turned her eyes smoky and he touched his mouth to hers again. This time he was less hesitant, more assertive. Clarisse forgot that she was a queen, a respectable widow, a mother and grandmother. She forgot that she was in the arms of her Head of Security, in a shower, no less! She forgot everything but the pleasure experienced by his lips on hers. When at last he reluctantly released her mouth, he kissed her wet eyelashes, ran his tongue down the bridge of her nose, and licked the drops from her chin before assaulting her lips once more.

The world tilted, and passion drove away the last feeble stirrings of reason in both of them. Their lives were their own and destiny whatever they made of it. The past was memory, the future was hope, and nothing was truly real except the moment. The rhythmic sound and feel of the water cascading over them made every sensation more acute. Their kisses eroded the heartache and the loneliness they had suffered in the past, dissolving the dam of emotions barricaded within them both -- promises they had dared not make and passion they had dared not feel.

Suddenly the thunderous banging on the outside door registered with Joseph. He slapped off the water and stomped out of the bathroom, dripping as he went.

Dazed by what had just transpired, Clarisse sagged against the shower wall for a moment, still feeling somewhat overheated. What had she been thinking? She hadn't been thinking at all! And yet she didn't regret the mindlessness of it. The old Clarisse might have been shocked, but to this new Clarisse, kissing Joseph the way she had seemed completely natural.

Then she straightened up. The nerve of the motel owner! He was claiming Joseph now owed him extra for destroying the door AND was saying their half hour was up! She'd love to give him a piece of her mind ... but she daren't show her face. She could only imagine the scandal should this tale ever be told around Genovia! When Joseph finally knocked on the bathroom door again, Clarisse hadn't moved. Now she looked down at herself -- still dripping, still feeling sticky from the punch. Her dress was stained.

"Come in, Joseph," she said quietly, and her warm smile lit her face when he stepped in.

"I paid him for another hour," Joseph said gruffly. "You may finish your shower, if you wish."

"Will you join me?" Clarisse heard herself ask, and her blood began to race through her veins. She must be out of her mind!

There was silence for a moment, then Joseph reached down into some of the rubbish on the floor outside the bathroom and produced a small, yellow rubber duck. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather have one of these with you?"

"Joseph ..." she began, but then he tossed the toy away.

"I must say, your Majesty, this is one birthday I will never forget!" Joseph's voice was husky as he joined her in the shower and turned the water on them again.

Clarisse frowned slightly at the formal address. "YOUR birthday?" She put her hands on his shoulders. "This isn't YOUR birthday, is it?"

"Why, yes. Marissa Motaz happens to share MY birthday." He nuzzled her neck, then teased her ear and cheek with his lips. "I do believe I deserve a bit of a celebration, too, after the day we have had ... and after all, I've now paid for another full hour!"

"They'll be waiting for us at the palace ..." Her voice was breathless as she shivered in delight at his touch.

"Let them wait," he growled, a mock scowl on his face. "You said yourself that a birthday is a cause for celebration and anything you could do to enhance the celebration would be done. I intend to hold you to that, Clarisse!"

A low, seductive laugh was her answer to that as she gave herself up to his embrace. It was in 'losing it' in Joseph's arms that Clarisse Renaldi finally found the passionate love for which she had been seeking her entire life.

OoOoOoOoO

They were quite late arriving back at the palace that day. Shades and Charlotte were frantic, on the point of setting out to look for them, and calls back and forth from the Motaz' had elicited no help. When Queen Clarisse walked regally into the palace, her dress wet, stained and crumpled, her shoes smudged with what appeared to be manure, she offered no explanation for her appearance. Shades privately thought that Joseph, rather wet and bedraggled himself, looked like he had fallen in a lake. Every step the man took squished a bit of water out of his boots. Both Joseph and Clarisse were relieved to hear that the water problem was now solely confined to the princess' suite.

"Your bath is ready, as ordered, your Majesty," Charlotte greeted her employer. "Or ... would you rather have a shower?"

"One shower today was more than enough for the next few years, thank you," Clarisse replied composedly. No one saw the quick look which passed between the queen and her Head of Security, nor did they understand the faint whisper which followed, "I'll remember losing it always ... in my dreams."


End file.
